


Liability

by citrinesunset



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Blood As Lube, Gang Rape, Held Down, M/M, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: A few guards in the Pentagon decide to give Erik some harsh treatment.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Liability

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarastark (niewanyin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/gifts).



Erik saw the frequency of his interrogation sessions as a positive sign, overall. It meant that his Brotherhood was still fighting, and that the best lead the government had was someone who had been in an isolation cell for the past year. Knowing that helped him endure whatever they had in store for him. 

So far, the sessions had consisted of nothing more than hours of questioning, promises, and threats. The questions, he ignored with stony silence. The promises were insulting. What could they offer him? Did they really believe he would sell out his allies for reading materials or more comfortable accommodations? The threats were toothless. There was little left for them to take from him. 

He was not _afraid_ , and yet every time they brought him to the interrogation room, his body started pumping adrenaline. He was prepared to both fight and take advantage of any opportunities that presented themselves. 

Every time they removed him from his cell was an opportunity to learn more about surroundings. Another chance to encounter a guard who had not been successfully screened, and who had some seemingly insignificant piece of metal in his pocket. 

So far, those opportunities had been scarce. There was no routine to when they came for him, and they always blindfolded him before escorting him to the interrogation room. The interrogation room was almost as sparse as his cell. There was a plastic table and plastic furniture. The floor and walls were concrete. They always secured his hands to a ring on the table with ceramic cuffs. 

Today, he sat in silence for what must have been a couple hours while the FBI interrogator worked on him. He kept his eyes trained on his murky reflection in the shiny white surface of the table. Sometimes he wished he was like Charles or Emma, and could retreat into his own mental world if it suited him. But he reminded himself that it would be over soon, and took some satisfaction in the annoyance and fatigue the interrogator gave off when he finally got up and left. 

Erik would be returned to his cell now. 

He was always escorted to and from interrogation by three guards. One in front and one on either side. Usually, the process went quickly. Some of the guards seemed spooked by him. Some seemed to resent the hassle. Regardless, they were eager to get the job over with.   
But today, the escort detail took their time. Erik sat unaccompanied for several silent minutes, and if it weren't for the conspicuous security cameras in the corners, he might have worried they'd forgotten him and that he would have to demean himself by yelling for attention.  
Perhaps this was a new intimidation technique. 

Finally, the door opened and three guards filtered in. They wore embroidered name badges on their shirts: Mulligan, Reeves, and Hunt. Erik recognized Hunt—he delivered dinner a couple times a week. He always lingered more than the other guards, peering through the glass at Erik like he was observing a zoo animal. The other two were unfamiliar. Mulligan looked young—early twenties at the oldest. Reeves, who brought up the rear, peeked outside in the hall before shutting the door behind him and locking it. All three men appeared nervous, and Erik tensed. They were planning something. 

Mulligan looked at Hunt and said, "Should we, uh, take off the cuffs first?"

"What for? Do you want to have to hold his arms down?"

"No. I was just thinking it'd be easier to use his mouth."

"Are you kidding?" Reeves said. "He'd bite your dick off. I’m not putting anything near his mouth.”

Their intent was becoming clear. Erik stood up. His chair fell over behind him. The chain connecting his hands to the table was long enough for him to stand, but not enough for him to back away or defend himself.

Hunt reached for the plastic baton on his belt and snapped, "Hey! Stand down. Make another move and you'll regret it."

Did they think he wouldn’t put up a fight? That he would let them do what they wanted?  
Reeves glanced up at one of the cameras. He looked nervous. Did anyone know they were doing this? Would anyone give a damn if they saw? The thought that an entire room of guards might be watching this made Erik's stomach lurch.

"I was just thinking," Mulligan said, "since we didn't get any lube…."

"He'll be fine," Hunt responded. "You can use some of your spit if you think you're big enough to hurt him."

Hunt stepped over to Erik and grabbed the back of his shirt. Erik dug in his heels, but Hunt slammed him down on the table. He held him down with a fist clenching his collar and an arm against his back. Erik scrabbled for purchase. The force of the fall had disoriented him. His cuffed hands were trapped beneath him, and he'd lost his footing.

"Hey, someone want to give me a hand here? He's giving me a fight." 

Reeves and Mulligan came over. One of them grabbed a fistful of Erik's hair and the other held him down by the shoulders. Hunt, meanwhile, reached under the hem of Erik's shirt and yanked down the waistband of his pants. Then he tugged at his briefs.

Erik fought harder. He twisted in their grip and almost succeeded in kicking Hunt in the face as he crouched down to pull Erik's pants off. His failed effort earned him a vicelike grip around his balls. He groaned before clenching his jaw to silence himself. 

"You want us to hurt you? Or are you going to be good for us?"

A wave of nausea coursed through him. His eyes watered. Hunt released his balls, and Erik took deep breaths. If he’d had the breath to talk, he would have told them he had no intention of giving up resistance. Perhaps it was better he couldn’t get the words out. They would merely have compounded his shame.

Hunt managed to get Erik's pants and underwear off. His shoes came off in the process. Erik tried to keep his legs together now, but two sets of hands worked together to pull his thighs apart.

There could have been fifty hands on him, instead of six. Any way he tried to move, someone managed to hold him firmly against the table, pull his hair, or dig their fingertips into his skin. With his hands cuffed, he had little hope of defending himself. He reached out blindly for his senses, desperately seeking out any bit of metal that might be in the room. These men were arrogant. One of them might have been lazy. The metal detectors might have missed something. But there was nothing.

Then he felt the tip of Hunt’s cock between his cheeks. Erik bucked against the table, but there was nowhere to go. The hard plastic dug into his waist. He was trapped by the table underneath him and the man behind him. The other two guards held him down as Hunt grasped his hips and forced his cock into him. 

There was a sharp sting. For the first time since he was imprisoned, Erik thought these humans might truly hurt him.

Every thrust hurt. But apparently, Hunt didn’t intend to tear him apart. He took his time, forcing his cock in little by little as Erik squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth. His eyes watered, and he turned his head so that his forehead was against the table. He wouldn't let them see tears on his face.

Finally, Hunt finished and pulled out. Erik barely had a respite before the next guard took his turn. The second time was easier. Erik's hole was lubricated now from come and, Erik suspected, his own blood.

By the time the third guard had his turn, Erik's body had lost its fight. He was too sore and too tired to push against their hands or the table anymore. The guards must have felt the loss of resistance. They would think they had broken him. 

When it was over, they wiped their cocks clean with Erik's discarded pants before throwing them back on the floor. Reeves unlocked the cuffs, and Hunt said, "Get dressed."

Erik straightened up gingerly. Now that he was free to move, he wanted to fight. But he had no chance, and he might be injured. They’d already shown him they could do whatever they wanted.

He looked down at the soiled clothes on the floor. He clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the stab of pain as he stiffly bent over and picked them up.

“See?” Hunt said to the others. “I told you he’s not that tough.”

They watched as he struggled to re-dress, like it satisfied them. Erik wanted to kill them, but focused instead on showing as little discomfort as possible. Eventually their patience wore thin and Reeves snapped, "Will you hurry it up?"

If they were concerned about being caught, they made little effort to hide the evidence of what they'd done as they walked him back to his cell. And if they had worried about their fellow guards remarking on Erik's state, they needn't have. There were no remarks.

Back in his cell, Erik slowly, gingerly got to his hands and knees and curled up on his mat. He wanted a shower, and clean clothes. But he didn’t want anyone else to see what had been done to him. He didn’t want any of the other guards to have the satisfaction of knowing.

* * *

Without a mirror, or privacy, it was difficult for Erik to tell how much he was hurt. The seat of his pants felt alarmingly damp the next morning, but when he twisted around to try to see if it was blood, his whole body hurt. 

He tried to lie with his back to the wall so they wouldn't see. He didn't want the guards who brought him his meals to see the evidence of what had happened to him. He didn’t want to give Hunt or one of the others an opportunity to gloat.

But they must have noticed, or else someone had reviewed the footage from the interrogation room, because that afternoon, he was forced out of his cell and taken to a small medical room. 

Erik remembered the doctor from the exam he received when he was first imprisoned. There were others in the room, as well--two guards by the door, and an older man in a military uniform that had been stripped of any metal embellishments. But even without metals on his breast, he gave the air of minor authority.

The doctor asked him to strip. Erik responded with silence.

"Mr. Lehnsherr," the official said, "If you do not cooperate with this examination, we will have to sedate and restrain you."

The thought of being sedated was worse than the indignity of being awake. Slowly, and painfully, Erik stripped out of his soiled uniform.

He was made to lie on his side on the examination table, with his back to the others and his knees bent up to his chest. He was not offered a gown, and no apologies were made for the lack of privacy. This was not about or for him at all, he realized. It was merely damage control.   
He tried to keep his breath steady as the doctor spread his cheeks.

He was wiped clean with something that stung, and then the doctor pushed a gloved, lubed finger inside him. Erik clenched his jaw.

“He doesn’t need stitches,” the doctor said. “The bleeding was superficial. He’s mostly bruised. I'll give him some antibiotics to be safe. He'll need to take them with every meal for a week. I can also provide some painkillers. I know it’s none of my business, but you may want to speak to the men who did this. These…types of injuries can be difficult to treat given the level of security."

"It will be addressed. We don’t need this type of liability.” 

_Liability_. That’s all it was to them. The only thing that burned stronger than Erik’s shame was his hatred.

There was no metal in the exam room, but when Erik’s rage flowed out from him, it found a target. He was on a higher level than his cell, and there was something at the far end of his reach. Metal in the soil, perhaps. Or maybe a pipe. There was a groaning, creaking sound as though there was pressure on the walls. When the others realized what was happening, they clamored to react. Within moments, a strong-smelling cloth was placed over his nose, and he lost consciousness despite every ounce of his remaining strength willing himself to stay away.

When he came to, he was naked in his cell. A set of clean clothes were folded on the floor beside his head.


End file.
